Fairies in the Flowers
by 3iggy
Summary: Sarah finds herself the keeper of another girl who slipped into Fairy. She knows this girl will be no walk in the woods, but a warning from her dear old foe makes Sarah wonder just what she's gotten herself into this time. Can it be bad enough that she may have to turn to her nemesis for help?
1. Chapter 1

"There are fairies in your flowers," the girl says as she steps out into the back garden, "They're so pretty!"

"I know," I tell her without looking up from my task—pruning roses is serious business. A warning about what comes next would be kind, but I myself have discovered that first hand experience soaks in the deepest.

"It bit me!"

"What'd you expect fairies to do?" I ask before snipping a stem and looking up to find her large blue eyes locked on me in accusation.

"I'm Sarah," I smile as I peel the gardening gloves off my hands and extend one to her. I can't help but smile. She's obviously pissed.

"You could've told me," she says putting her uninjuried hand in mine, "Asher, and I know who you are."

"That doesn't mean I can't introduce myself. What if I wanted to be called something else entirely? What is a name anyway?" I say as my eyes take measure of this new housemate of mine. She is short and curvy with pink lips and hair the color of clover honey. She looks like trouble—just like all the others.

"Why are there fairies in your garden?" Asher takes a step back and surveys the humdrum.

"I have no idea," I lie. I'm pretty certain they were a house warming gift from my old adversary, but it seems petty to slander him without concrete evidence.

"Come inside, have a cup of tea, and meet the other misses," I say gesturing toward the French doors she's just come through, "I'll call them down. There's only two others with me now." There're never really very many considering there are four other houses that make up our little campus. My house is reserved for the worst cases. The girls who vanish in the night only to turn up three years later raving about vampires or wolf men or what have you. Of course, my area of specialty is Fairy, but Fairy is a hard place to get back from.

With one last hateful glance toward the iridescent wings flashing among my foliage, she follows along.

The house is not large, but it is cozy. A fireplace dominates the living room and a generous kitchen leads into the sunroom we enter first. Herbs are drying above our heads, strung together on brightly colored ribbons, and the kettle is already whistling from it's place on the stove.

"Go on into the living room and we'll be right there," I say while turning off the stove.

Before Asher has time to fully disappear, Emma and Rachel have run down the stairs and started grabbing mixed-matched cups and saucers from their shelves.

"Try not to overwhelm her," I laugh as they crowd brownies and scones onto trays.

"It's been so long since we've had a new girl," Rachel whispers—she always whispers.

"I hope Jude got back home," Emma adds while scooping globs of cream into a dish. "I hope she gives that wicked king exactly what he deserves!"

I can only sigh when I think of Jude. Her visit was short, she was a vicious little thing, and she reminded me far too much of myself in more ways than I cared to examine.

"Jude will be fine," I say, balancing the tea pot and cups on a tray. "Come on, Asher is waiting."

We burst into the living room like a three ring circus. Emma pushes aside a vase of peonies to make room for our foraged treasures on the coffee table as Rachel takes her seat by the bay window a tea cup in one hand and a scone in the other.

"Alright ladies," I sit down the tray and pour each of them a cup. "Asher, meet Emma and Rachel." I bring my own tea to the sofa and sit next to Asher. "Emma has lived here about a year and Rachel is nearing her third year," I take a sip of the piping hot tea. "I've lived in Coralee Cottage for seven years. As you probably know I founded Everlyn with three other people I'd meet who'd slipped through the cracks and into other places—James, Roselyn, and Clair. We've all got stories and don't particularly mind sharing, but mostly we just like being among other people who are ok with us throwing salt around or wearing garlic necklaces." I don't do any of those things. What I do is so much worse.

"Hi," Asher waves none too enthusiastically at the other girls.

Emma smiles and Rachel takes a sip of her tea. This should be a rousing afternoon.

"Alright," Asher turns to me. "Why do they send the likes of us to you? Obviously, we three have issues, what's your deal?"

"You're absolutely delightful," I say with no small amount of sarcasm before setting my cup down on the end table, "But, you're right. I don't take just anyone into Coralee. I spent ten hours in Fairy when I was fifteen. I took on the high fey king of a Temporal Court, of which there are three: Day, Night, and Twilight," I slouch back in the sofa after grabbing a brownie from the tray.

"Which court?" Asher asks.

"The most tricky one!" Emma jumps in excitedly.

"Twilight," Rachel says whisper soft.

"What's so tricky about a Twilight Court?" Asher turns to me with a look that can only be labeled defiant.

I can't help but be dramatic.

"Twilight is most tricky because it is never only one thing. It is a time in transition, a time of unmaking and creation. It is the end of the night, the end of the day, but it is also the beginning of both. Twilight is the time for trickster kings. Kings that are both prince and pirate. It is a time for generous thieves and rock star knights. The ruler of the twilight realm is both despairingly pitiful and awesomely powerful. He's beyond description," I wax and wane and try to keep a dreamy expression at bay.

"And, you beat him?" She asks with a hungry look on her face, an expression that worries me deeply.

"At great cost," I answer gravely. "You see most people wander into Fairy, into paranormal escapades. They take a wrong turn in the woods during a solstice," here I cast a glance in Rachel's direction," or find themselves talking to the wrong person in a dark cafe in Prague," this time I slide my eyes to Emma who blushes. "I got _myself_ into trouble with the master of the Labyrinth, the king of dreams and twilight."

"What did you do?" Asher asks.

"I asked him to take away my baby brother and then I had to win him back," I reply. Even now the very idea of such a thing terrifies me. I can't believe I was ever so reckless—but then again, I can. Am I not still a little too reckless?

"And, he just showed up and did what you wanted?" Now she sounds incredulous.

"That's the scary part. I believed so strongly in the Goblin King that I drew his notice. One thing to always remember is that the Fey prey on human emotion, human desires. You don't want to catch their eye," I say. "And that, my girl, leads us to the house rules," I begin.

"Rule number one: Under no circumstance should you ever use the word _wish_," Emma inserts with her best impression of me.

"Rule number two: Don't even think a _wish_," Rachel whispers seriously.

"And, finally, rule number three:" I take over with a mock stern glance at them both, "We do not take fruit from goblin men."

"Seriously?" Asher looks from the girls then to me.

"Deadly serious," I answer.

"Are there goblins here as well as fairies?"

"No, but that doesn't mean you'll never run into one and it's a good rule to keep," I reply. "Now finish up your tea it's getting cold."

* * *

I am glad to be back out in the fresh air after tea. The girls are helping Asher unpack while Faust and I take a walk in the woods. I walk, he runs up and down the path, a black and white blur of border collie madness.

Asher worries me. Like Jude—like myself—there is a something in her eyes that makes me think she has unfinished business. She's not safe.

Clair told me she had come from an Autumn Court. The girl hadn't said much about her time in Fairy, but I would imagine an Autumn Court is similar to a Twilight Kingdom, a court that thrives in a place inbetween.

"I'll have to be patient with her."

I don't realize that I've spoken the last words aloud until I hear the snicker.

Neither trees nor Faust snicker.

My heart begins to race behind the cage of my ribs. Sweat slicks my palms, my spine, the way it always does when I see a glimmer of white in the trees at dusk or find a feather on the windowsill. But, it's been thirteen years since I last heard his voice.

Slowly, I glance back down the path the way I came. The fading light of evening does nothing to conceal the Goblin King. It turns his cornsilk hair to gold and softens the jagged features of his face. His eyes are sharp as ever though.

"You'll have to be more than patient, darling. That girl will bring you nothing but trouble," he smiles as if the very thought is pleasing to him. I would reply, but my tongue is tied in knots just like my stomach.

* * *

Oh boy, I've not written a longer fic in quite some time. I'm not sure where this one came from, but I excited to have a little fun with it! And, the Jude mentioned in not my character. I stole her from Holly Black for just a second. If you haven't red The Cruel Prince, you should stop what you're doing right now and go read it. Until next time!


	2. Deals with Devils

It's tragic—he's beautiful there in my small copse of trees wearing spring greens and golds…petting my treacherous dog. His hair is longer than I remember and falls in a wild curtain about his face and shoulders. Here and there I can spot a braid, a bead. The pointed tips of his ears are visible as well, the one nearest me sports a cuff. He is so much more than I remember—a Celtic god in the flesh.

"Finally, she is speechless," his eyes glance up to meet mine as Faust jogs back off into the woods, leaving me alone, the useless mutt.

I want to die. Or run, but dying seems like the more dignified alternative.

A thousand things. I could say a thousand things but nothing will surface, nothing can break through the terror and excitement lacing my blood. If he were a vampire, I'd be done for. But, I have to say something. Standing here gawking at him for all eternity is simply not an option.

"I wasn't expecting you," I say. It's true, but not witty, not charming. I've waited so long to see those kohl rimmed eyes once more, lived in expectation of the day he'd come out of the shadows to challenge me again.

"Obviously," his grin is sharp, his eyes full of laughter as he pushes off the tree he's been leaning on. "Do you ever? I never tire of surprising you."

"You set those damned little biting fairies loose in my garden didn't you?" I feel my courage rise the closer he comes to me.

"All fairies bite, my girl, not just the little ones, or don't you know that?" His grin grows wider as if to drive home his point while he answers my question with another. My stomach does a somersault as I fight the urge to back away from him.

"Is that a threat?" I feel the fifteen-year-old Sarah rise. If she was audacious enough to stand up to him why can't I?

"Do I have a habit of making threats, Sarah?" He's close enough now that I could reach out and touch him if I dared. "Or, haven't I always been willing to give you a warning? Not, that you've ever heeded any of them." He shifts his trajectory and circles behind me like a wolf in the woods. Jareth may deny handing out threats, but his very prescence is a peril.

"Go to the girl, figure out what she's not telling you, before it's too late," his breath whispers against the back of my neck, sending a shiver up my spine that I hope he can't see. He smells like the oncoming night.

The instinct to turn and face him is too strong, but when I spin around, he's gone, just a hint of laughter caught away in the breeze.

The short walk back to the cottage is not a pleasant one. The Goblin King has stolen my peace, my aplomb, and worse, my dog. I searched for Faust high and low only to come to the conclusion that the dog made a deal with the devil.

It takes a few deep breathes before I can enter the house with any sense of composure. The girls are talking among themselves in the living room as music plays softly in the background.

Their conversation drops the moment I enter the room. My face is an open book, it always has been.

"What's wrong," Emma asks, her dark eyes widening with worry.

I don't answer right away. Instead, I take a seat by the dormant fireplace and motion for someone to give me a cup of whatever it is they are drinking.

Rachel places a glass of chocolate milk in my hand and scurrys back to her usual chair.

It isn't likely that the milk with be fortifying enough, but I'll take what I can get. Chocolate does, on occasion, do wonders with chasing away those things that scare us.

"Where's Faust?" Rachel whispers.

"Gone," I reply and sit the glass down on the table.

"What do you mean?" Emma asks from her place on the sofa next to Asher. Faust is everyone's best friend in this house. He checks on us all before finding his bed at night. He wakes us up in the morning with his doggy excitement. Life as we know it has been altered for the worst.

"I had a visitor while out on my walk. He came with a warning and left with our dog," my eyes find Asher's. "Do any of you have any idea why?"

Emma and Rachel wear mirrored frowns.

"Who met you in the woods?" Asher's voice has lost its youthful bravado. There is fear in her ice blue eyes. Good.

"Is there someone who comes to mind?" I ask her. "Who should I be worried about?"

Relief floods her face as she realizes my guest was not whoever she fears it could've been.

"Who was it, Sarah?" Emma is sitting on the edge of her seat. "Did they hurt Faust? Will he be ok? Will they bring him back?"

It had never occurred to me to worry about Faust's safety.

"Jareth won't hurt Faust," I say knowing that it's true. "He's a rat, but his type of cruelty tends to be nuanced. Dog torture is beneath him."

"Your Goblin King was in the wood?" Rachel's voice is so quiet I can hardly hear her.

"He's not mine!" I protest automatically. "But, yes. He gleefully claims that trouble is on our horizon."

I turn to face Asher. "Now, I'm all about letting people work through their own supernatural issues at their own sweet pace—gods know I'm still hammering away at mine—but if there's a threat, we need to know just what it is. These kind of problems aren't solved by themselves, they aren't fixed by one person alone. We have to face them together. That's the only way. And, I know that it's that kind of problem because I've not spoken to my old _friend_ in thirteen years. Something has caught his attention."

Asher won't meet my eyes. She's staring into her glass of milk as she starts to speak. "I made a mistake," she says. "He was handsome and charming."

This was not going to be good.

"I didn't know that he was the master of the wild hunt! Honest, I just thought he was a cute guy. A cute guy who wanted to talk to me," Asher finally looks in my direction, her eyes pleading for understanding. Oh, I understand but this news is worse than I could've imagined. No wonder Jareth looked so damn joyful.

"Are you saying that Gwyn ap Nudd struck you as nothing more than another teenage dude with the hots for you?" I ask with a mouth gone dry. This was going to be a very big problem indeed. Just what I needed—a Welsh warrior king of the fey knocking at my door looking for his lost love interest.

I'm not the most comforting of people. It's a problem when you run a house for girls with supernatural problems. "The same Gwyn who hunts down human souls and drags them to the welsh underworld? The current king of the Autumn court?"

This was going to be harder than keeping Jack Frost away from Rachel or checking to making sure that Emma never left the house without holy water and a crucifix. And, now I didn't even have our emotional support dog to turn to for advice. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

Thanks for reading! And, dealing with my messing author's notes. I try to proofread the actual story...but I'm a little sloppy in the notes. Also, I like to play with mythology and folktales, I like to mix things up, I don't do a whole lot of research, I just run with ideas, so if you are a mythology master, please forgive me.


	3. Of Doorways and Dormice

Janus is the keeper of doorways.

I met him sophomore year of college in a night club of all places, a club my roommate had dragged me to.

The exit was calling my name. An hour of frat boys making grabs for me beneath the multi-colored strobe lights was all anyone could reasonably expect from me. I was halfway to freedom when I saw him sandwiched between two dark haired vixens.

A smarter girl than me would've run when he slide off the barstool and headed my way. But, I'd been keeping my eyes open for just such a thing, for a glimmer from the otherside, and I wasn't going to run from an opportunity.

Reckless.

"I thought I'd be seeing you," Janus says as I step off the path in my small wood and into his domain.

"So you too knew of my problems before I did?" I ask, hands on my hips as I stare out into the darkness surrounding the temple the god calls home. Marble pillars run on for as long as the eye can see, each space between a star filled pathway to a different place.

Janus smiles, but his blue eyes are hardly amused. "You know I see all things, the comings and goings, the opening of the doors, the shutting. I know when Jareth slips from one world to the next and when the leader of the wild hunt is on the prowl. You've got yourself into quite a pickle."

"A pickle?" I say before dropping onto a cushioned bench opposite the god. "I'd call it a catastrophe myself."

"You always did prefer to look on the bright side," Janus grins before he snaps his fingers summoning a tray of god-approved snacks and a couple glasses of wine. As a rule, I do not accept food from the realms beyond my own, but Janus' is the exception. There is something I trust in the old god's steady gaze and quick smiles. He has allowed me to venture into the places beyond my own world. We've been on many adventures together but there is one doorway he has never permitted me to enter. It is an unspoken agreement between us. I am not to go into the world of Twilight, into the Labyrinth. Not that he has placed such strictures upon Jareth—not that he could if he wished to.

And, I'm about to challenge that unspoken understanding.

"I need to return to the Labyrinth," I say the words fast, before jamming an olive into my mouth, steering clear of the dormice.

Janus sighs.

"He took my dog," I say.

"I know," Janus replies, running one hand through his dark curls. "He wont play fair, Sarah. He never plays fair."

"You think I don't know that?" I ask. "I don't particularly mind playing dirty," I quip. "Besides, when Old Hallows Eve arrives a full month beyond the equinox, when the Autumn Court's power is full and Gywn is able to cross the veil and collect his souls I'm going to need help. If I can't find a way to free Asher on my own, I'll need an ally, one I don't mind sacrificing to the Autumn King's fury." Of course right after that I'd have to worry once more about Rachel and Frost. My worries never rested.

"I could be a better friend to the girl than he," Janus replies. "You know I'm a better friend to you."

"We don't need a friend. We need a devious, conniving, alliance. It's best to fight fire with fire in this case at least," I say. "I read a book once you know. A girl was trying to hide her lover from the hunt and learned from these lizard people that she could hide from them within a mirror maze*. A labyrinth sounds even better."

Janus seems unconvinced.

"I don't want to make a deal with him. I don't wish to interact with him at all, " I lie. "But, he's our best chance, and I've beat him before."

"You're playing right into his hands, Sarah. He won't underestimate you again, he won't hold anything back."

"He doesn't have anything I want this time," I say, picking up my wine and taking a sip. It tastes divine as it rushes over my fumbling tongue. Even I know I'm grasping at straws and making illogical arguments.

"He has your dog, and you certainly have something that he wants, which is even more dangerous," Janus grumbles.

He is kind to say it that way. We both know that what Jareth wants more than anything is me. It is a truth that both terrifies and excites me, reckless creature that I am. The Goblin King's notice is something I can't even begin to understand, but it is a heavy thing. I'm not sure if he hates or desires me, if he's angry or amused. Love and hate are so similar, perhaps he doesn't know his own mind any better than I do. But, a Goblin King can afford to be fickle. I can't.

"I have to do what I can. I've never asked you to open that door for me—not in all the time I've known you. You have to trust that I know what I'm doing," I say turning my most beseeching face on the god.

"Fine," Janus stands. "Come along, we'll do it now while the noon day sun still shines on your world. It will be better than meeting him when you are both aligned in twilight. But, I do not like it, Sarah."

"Thank you," I say coming to my own feet. Truly, I'm not ready to face him just yet, but I can't give Janus time to think it over and change his mind.

We hurry down a never ending hallway and I watch as the dark world beyond the pillars begins to lighten into that nondescript time between night and dawn. The doorway we stop in front of is full of dusky pinks and oranges, purple threatens its edges and I know this door. It calls to me—a sharp tug just behind my ribs.

"It won't be the way you remember it," he warns. The fey have rules about innocents and children. Not nearly enough of them, but still. We both know you're no child now.

"I can handle it," I lie.

"You'll have to," Janus steps back. "I'll be here waiting when you need to return. I cannot follow you into his court."

Stepping between the marble pillars into nothing nearly robs me of breath. It's a sensation I've experienced many times before, but this is different. The air is cloying and expectant as my feet touch solid ground.

Eyes shut tight, I tell my lungs to pull air in, to push air out, as I give myself a moment.

Blinking my eyes open, I know where I am—the same place it all started—on a hilltop over looking the labyrinth. Hung low in the sky, to the east, rest two pale discs, two suns. And, to the west—two moons, one waxing one waning. Between the two extremes lies the labyrinth bathed in the dusky tones on the edge of day or night. It's beautiful in the bizarre way of a Dali or a Van Gogh, although neither one resembles the other.

Giving my head a shake, I run down the hill. Time is a weapon in the Labyrinth and I don't have any to waste. What if I left and found that three or four months had passed? That my world was on the cusp of autumn? I couldn't think about that.

And, of course, I shouldn't have suspected that the gateway would drop me right in front of the castle. It could never be that easy. There is no friendly face to meet me at the labyrinth's entrance, no fairies either—those are probably all flitting happily about my roses.

It is too quiet.

Once my steps carry me into the labyrinth itself I feel my hair stand on end. It is the same feeling you get at night in the worlds when something's eyes lock on you. To feel alone is better than to feel watched. Not that there is anything that can be done about it. I stretch out my hand, running it along the sandpaper walls and wait to find a break, not that I have time to traverse the entire thing.

Finally, my fingers run out of wall and slice through air.

"Goblin King, Goblin King, wherever you may be…" I mumble, crossing into a different piece of the puzzle.

This passageway is new, made entirely of dark hedges which arch above my head. Their branches wave threatening in a nonexistent wind as shadows cling to the stepping stone strewn path.

It doesn't matter which way I go. That's not how a labyrinth works. I didn't know that as a girl. A maze is multicursal, but a labyrinth is not. It always leads one to the center although in as roundabout and confusing a way as it desires.

The only sound I hear is my own footsteps as I hurry down the row of trees, eyes open for the next path. I feel something snag my hair and turning, find nothing at all behind me.

Heartbeat picking up, I walk even faster. The effort is in vain, the branches lash out at me, scratching my arms, reaching for my face, tangling in my hair. One manages to trip me and I tumble to the ground. Eyes gone wide with fright, heart beating in my throat, I scramble on hands and knees trying to get out of their willowy clutches, but they are everywhere.

"Stop!" I shout, knowing it's ridiculous to plead with them.

They stop.

Something is awake within me. I can feel it stirring behind my ribs and suddenly I'm not afraid.

Standing, I dust the dirt off my jeans, and try to beat it out of my faded black tee-shirt. My hair has come loose from its braid and is tumbling about my shoulders as something that feels suspiciously like power pools in my belly. I don't move, I just let whatever it is grow. I wait even though it's hard to be patient when there is so much I must do. So much I can't trust.

Taking a deep breath, I turn toward the nearest tree and I will the path to break. "I want to go to castle beyond the Goblin City," I whisper the words, unsure of myself.

The trees jump out of my way. I step into another section of the labyrinth and head straight for the opposite wall, toward the castle. Every obstacle I encounter falls beneath my will. Nothing reaches for me, nothing morphs into a dead end, nothing moves if I do not will it. The realization is heady as I cut my way across Jareth's world. In time the labyrinth gives way to the ramshackle city and the castle at its heart.

It wouldn't do to hesitate outside, facing the labyrinth is one thing, its king another. He will not fall at my feet. He will twist words, curve his lips, trap my eyes with his own haphazard ones. Who could resist that consistently blown out pupil, wrecking his lovely blue eyes. I suppose I have to.

Like everything else, the castle is deserted. No chickens, cats, or goblins. It's disheartening to know I'm about to face Jareth with nothing separating us but this unnameable emotion that exists somewhere between love and hate.

* * *

*Cold Magic (Lovely book if you get the chance to read it)

I waited so long between this chapter and the last...forgive me please.


	4. Shenanigans and Sea Shanties

Of course, you can't take anything for granted in this place.

My mind had already formulated what would happen as I stepped into the throne room. He would be there, slouching on his throne, a jagged smile on his face. He'd say something razor sharp and witty which I'd have to deflect. There'd be some banter and other acts of verbal warfare and then his eyes would twinkle with mischief and the real fight would begin. But that's not at all what happens.

The throne room is empty. The throne—utterly kingless. All the courage I have stored up and stoked vanishes. I can do nothing more than step out of the room and up the twisting staircase. The corridors of the castle are not how I remember them, yet there's something tugging me in what I hope is the right direction. It is more instinct than knowledge.

Like calling to like?

Wind moves through the castle unfettered. It sends feathers and dustmotes dancing in its wake. Still, nothing else moves, no voices carry though the stone encased passageways. I feel like a specter haunting the halls as the heels of my boots click with each step, as I'm drawn up and inward to some unknown destination.

Finally the urge to keep climbing to keep searching subsides as I find myself facing a door. The beat of my heart quickens, sending blood rushing to my head as my fingers find the doorknob.

The room beyond is bathed in a rosy golden light which pours in from the windows. Long gauzy curtains, the exact shade of purple as the last bit of sky before night falls, bellow in the breeze as the Labyrinth stretches out in all of its glory just on the other side of the windowsills. Yet, it is the bed in the middle of the room that draws my eyes and steals my breath.

_Mornings of gold and valentine evenings_.

The words come unbiddened to my mind, he always lives in spaces of twilight. I hadn't thought about those words before.

The Goblin King is sleeping.

Quietly, I push the door to and lean against it, my eyes riveted on the sight of him stretched out on his side, a pillow clasp beneath one arm, his hands strangely bare. There is no fierceness in him now.

No quick quips or sharp grins.

The wind pulls it fingers through his hair, turned golden by a trick of the light, and ruffles his shirt—he's more like his old self today all whites and grays. I have the strangest urge to touch him. That would be crossing some sort of line, I'm sure. Still, I take a step closer, making as little noise as possible.

I'm not quiet enough.

Jareth's eyes open without warning and the world erupts into sound. Voices and laughter swell in the halls beyond the door. It sounds surprisingly like a sea shanty is in full swing. The sound of steel clashing against steel echoes just outside the door and the disgruntled squawks of poultry fill the air like some sort of foul symphony. It is just as though the world couldn't go on without him, even for a moment while he slept. It had to follow him into his dreams.

All I can do is watch while the Goblin King stretches and a contented smile curves his lips as he snuggles his pillow before allowing his gaze to find mine.

"Has anyone ever told you that it very rude to stare?" He asks before propping himself up an elbow and arching an eyebrow.

"They have actually," I say taking a tentative step closer. How can he be so composed, so nonplussed.

It's not fair.

A black and white head pops out from under the bed followed quickly by the rest of Faust and I give up any hope at seeming dignified. Dropping to my knees, my arms come around the dog as soon as he reaches me. Just as I had expected, he's fine. Even if he smells slightly fishy.

"You stole my dog." I stand and motion for Faust to stay as I stalk towards Jareth.

"He followed me home," Jareth grins coming to sit in a cross legged position on the bed, his elbows resting on his knees. There's a challenge in his eyes.

The bed is an inviting mess. Pillows in every shade of midnight and gold are scattered across the moon and star strewn coverlet—it looks like a night sky.

I take another step closer.

A feral grin curves his lips as his head cants to the right.

There are warning bells ringing in my ears and butterflies in my stomach but I cross the room, kick off my boots, and climb into his majesty's nest. It is quite possibly the bravest thing I've ever done.

"Daring girl," he throws himself back against a mountain of pillows and laughs. "I didn't think you had it in you."

The sound of his laughter ripples through me. I was expecting the fierce face of my old adversary, not this. Never this. Perhaps he hopes to get my guard down?

"I know what you're doing," I say mimicking his aloofness as I burrow into my own stack of pillows. It shouldn't surprise me that the Goblin King's bed is one great big indulgence. I sink into it like a cloud.

"Enlighten me, what exactly am I doing?" Jareth cuts a glance in my direction before turning his eyes toward the ceiling which is painted to look like the sky above the labyrinth with its double moons and suns. "Besides having my day interrupted by a stowaway, a scallawag, a landlubber?"

I don't get a chance to answer.

The door bangs open and crashes into the wall as a goblin who is furrier than most and wearing an eye patch bounds into the room. It is dripping wet and smells like salt water.

"We were pretending to be pirates," Jareth says as if this should mean something to me.

"What?"

"Your greatness, your most excellent flightiness," the goblin squeaks as he launches himself across the room and onto the foot of the bed.

"Yes?" Jareth says never taking his gaze off the ceiling.

"The girl," the goblin begins.

"What girl?"

"The girl who ate the peach and forgot everything…"

"What of her?" Jareth rolls his head toward me.

"She's in the castle, captain. Shall we have her walk the plank? Cast her gizzards to the sharks?" The creature pulls a rusting kitchen knife from his tattered vest and brandishes it over his head.

"What are you calling yourself these days?" Jareth finally looks the goblin in the face.

"Call me Ishmael," he replies.

"Fine, Ishmael, do you notice that there is a girl in my bed?" Jareth's smile widens, as his eyes round taking on an owlish expression.

Ishmael slices a glance toward me, "Yes."

"Do you know which girl she is?"

"Ahhh, the girl who ate the peach and forgot everything," Ishmael answers.

"Clever, Ishmael," Jareth smiles indulgently. "Do you think that I want her gizzards removed if she's in my bed?"

"She could be holding you hostage," Ishmael points his knife at me.

"Sarah, are you holding me hostage," Jareth asks, his brows coming together as if his question is sincere.

"I wouldn't dream of holding you hostage, your most excellent flightiness," I reply with as straight a face as possible.

"Brilliant," Jareth returns his attention to Ishmael. "Could you have some tea and biscuits sent up? I'm starving."

Ishmael tucks his knife back inside his pocket with a disturbingly disappointed expression. "Suppose so," he says before he hops off the bed and rushes out the way he came.

Jareth sighs.

"You were pretending to be pirates?" I ask.

"That's what I said," he rolls his eyes.

"All of you? Every single creature in the labyrinth?"

"Well, not the worms. They can't quite master their sea legs," Jareth shakes his head.

"Right," I nestle down into the feather soft mattress my guard officially dropped.

"Pirate games and goblins are not what you came here to discuss however," Jareth turns onto his side to face me across a border wall of pillows.

"No," I answer feeling the butterflies return. Whatever am I doing in the Goblin King's bed? He's just an arm's length away.

"What do you want, Sarah?"

"I think you know."

"You still have to say the right words," his smile is wicked now.

"I need your help, or at least I might."

"Interesting," his gloveless hand stretches out and I go utterly still as his finger tips brush across my cheek, before he plucks a white feather from my hair.

"When have I ever denied you anything?"

The words hang heavy in the air between us. They bring me back to the moment he asked me to love him and I refused. It's suddenly hard to breath. How could I not love him? I'd loved him nearly my entire life. I loved him every time I saw those damn fairies buzzing about my flowers or heard the call of an owl in the night. And, I suspect that he knows. How can he not know when my thoughts turn toward him? They were strong enough to draw him to me in the first place. Reckless.

But therein lies the problem. Jareth's idea of love doesn't coincide with mine. I know what he'd require of me. I know I can't bring myself to do it, to let him rule me. It's time to get out of here.

"The girls, if I can't find a way to keep Asher from Gywn, I need to you hide them. I won't risk any of them," I say.

"You can't hide her forever," he answers.

"He'll move on, forget about her after a while," I say.

"Oh yes, we tend to forget quiet easily the things we want." Jareth sits up as Ishmael clatters back into the room with a tea tray on top of his head.

The furry little goblin deposits the tray on the foot of the bed before eyeing me suspiciously and backing out of the room. The door shuts behind him of its own volition.

"Tea?" Jareth snatches up a little china cup and fills it with steaming liquid.

"No thanks. Janus fed me."

Jareth doesn't reply as he sips tea from the ridiculous little cup. It has flowers on it for heaven's sake.

"Jareth," I push myself up reluctantly, "how was I able to command the labyrinth? While you slept, I…" I'm not sure how to explain what I did.

The king's eyes sharpen over the rim of the cup before the entire tray disappears, cookies and all. Why did he even ask to have it brought up when he could will it in and out of existence? It's a stupid question to ask myself while he's looking at me like this. He's no longer smiling, no longer playful.

Jareth is fast. His barehands are like fire when they capture my wrists and pin me back against the pillows, his eyes inches from mine.

I can't breathe, but my pulse is running. Every quickened beat of my heart can be felt beneath my skin, at my wrists, my throat.

"How can you dare to ask me that?" His voice is low, dangerous. "How do you not know?" He's not really asking the questions of me. His thoughts are tumbling from his head onto his tongue and across his lips. Lips that are suddenly, fiercely working their way along my throat.

My breath returns in a rush, "Jareth!" My voice doesn't sound like my own. And, my body certainly no longer belongs to me as it arches into his. I could die of mortification when I feel his lips curve into a smile against my skin.

Those lips are at my ear. "Do you know how often I've imagined you here?"

Silently I beg him not to kiss me while simultaneously praying he does.

My prayers are answered. His lips are feather light as they skim across mine, his hair tickling the sides of my face, my throat.

Just before I'm sure I'll die from desire, the door bangs open once more.

"Captain, is the wench assaulting ye?" Ishmael's voice squeaks. I'm sure the rusty knife is back in his grip.

"Gods," Jareth sighs, his forehead falling to rest on mine. "It is quite the opposite, Ishmael."

"I'm not a wench," I say feeling some sense and indignation rise within me.

Jareth is across the room before I can insist that he get off me. I miss the weight of him immediately. Not that I should.

Ishmael is booted, rather unkindly, out of the room and the door is slammed in his crestfallen face.

"I'll hide your girl on Old Hallows Eve but you will grant me a service in return," his voice has lost all playfulness.

"What do you want?" I ask swinging my legs off the bed and jamming my feet into my boots. I can't look him in the eye.

"I don't know yet. You'll have to wait and find out," his hands are on his hips and there's mischief hiding in the curve of his lips.

"It's possible I won't even need your help," I say.

"That hardly matters. You have my word, now I need yours," he twirls his wrist and a sword appears in his hand as a large hat materializes upon his head.

"You have it," I reply. I can't gamble with another girl's safety. So what if I have to lose my soul in the hopes of keeping hers intact.

"Good," he smiles. "Now if you don't mind I have official state business to attend to." Jareth spins on his heel and pulls open the door.

"_Up jumps a crab with his crooked legs_

_Saying "you play the cribbage and I'll stick the pegs"_

_Singing blow the wind westerly, let the wind blow_

_By a gentle nor'wester how steady she goes…"_

The sea shanty is a roar, a hundred goblin voices raised in a ear splitting chorus.

"You're still playing pirates?" I ask, hardly able to picture it.

"My subjects are unique in their needs," Jareth replies before slipping into the hall and pulling the door shut behind him, leaving Faust and I to our own devices.

* * *

Thank you all for reading! I love hearing from you. And, a special thanks to Jetredgirl! I have so much fun writing fanfiction. It is always nice to know that people are having fun alongside me.


	5. Tea and Treachery

As soon as Jareth disappears, I take Faust by the collar and walk him to the door. One handedly, I withdraw a key that hangs from a chain on my neck and shove it into the lock.

The twisting dusty hallway of the castle doesn't wait for us on the other side, only darkness and stars. Faust is rather reluctant to step out into the sky, but he'd follow me to the end of time if I asked him to.

"You're back," Janus says as our feet—and paws—hit the marble floor of his temple. He has switched his face, no longer young and dark haired, his second face wears a flowing white beard and the wrinkles of a being who has spent too long looking back over the long years behind him.

"How long were we gone?" I ask anxiously.

"It's dawn," he answers.

My heart skips a beat. I left the girls for an entire day—an entire night.

"We have to go," I say unnecessarily as I head back down the row of columns, searching for the place where the sky lightens to pink and gold.

Before I make it far, something stops me in my tracks. Faust skids past me and Janus nearly knocks right into my back as my head swivels around to face the darkness between two columns.

There are no strains of pink or purple here. Dead leaves and loam flavor the air that whistles past the marble pillars as a blood chilling howl reaches my ears.

Faust draws near, his own ears flat against his head, his lips pulled back in a snarl as a dozen identical voices join the first.

"This door leads to the Autumn Court," I say to no one in particular.

"It does," Janus says giving me a gentle push. "That is certainly not a door for you."

"No," I shake my head and command my feet to go on but a fear has taken root within me.

My problem is Jareth. Jareth who sings to the children he takes, who plays pirates with his child-like charges, who sidetracks girls with dreams of ball gowns and chiming clocks. His cruelty is much like that of a child's—a rockstar Peter Pan. He is forever young. Something tells me that Gwyn is not. I tend to think that all the fey are like my own—even thought I know better. Cruel, yes, powerful, yes, but playful and charming as well. Jareth can be dangerous, he has all the power and potential for it, but not necessarily the predilection.

That portal is not the least bit playful. It is all danger.

"I did the right thing, Janus. You have your understandable misgivings, but I did the right thing," I say before taking my place before the space that would return me to my own little copse of trees.

"Hope you're right," he says before Faust and I step out into the summer heat.

In minutes we are rushing through the back garden still buzzing with fairies. The sight makes me smile even though I'm anxious to be back inside, to see my girls and be reassured of their safety.

"Sarah?"

"Clair? What are you doing here?" Faust passes me on the steps and paws open the screen door, obviously eager to check on girls. Clair holds the door out for me as I follow him.

"Emma called when you didn't come home last night," Clair answers. "Roselyn agreed to check on my house while I stayed here. Where have you been? We were worried." Clair always worries. Hell we all do, but she's the worst.

"I was searching for answers to my problems and lost track of time," I say turning toward the kitchen. I need a cup of tea.

"Where did you go?" She asks plucking a white feather from my hair which I snatch from her fingers and place on the counter before filling the kettle.

"The Twilight Court," I answer, my back still turned toward her.

"You didn't!"

"I had no other choice," I whisper and launch into the story I pulled from Asher.

"You should've come to us," Clair answers automatically. "Roselyn, James, and I could have helped you figure something out. Or, we could've at least tried to come up with something better than that! Your plan goes against every tenet of this campus. We're supposed to help these people move on, not entangle them further into the worlds beyond."

"You don't understand. I don't understand," I lean against the counter and cross my arms over my chest as the water begins to simmer. "This girl is already entangled with a seasonal court ruler, the leader of the wild hunt. He's not going to pester us with bad poetry etched in ice across the windows. Come Hallows Eve, he'll be here, ready to claim that girl. I don't even know what kind of foolishness landed her in this position. Did she pledge herself to serve him? Make a deal? Heavens forbid that she bound herself to him!"

A startled intake of breath pulls my attention to the hall. Asher is standing in the doorway, her face white as snow.

"Asher," I say dumbly, "I didn't see you there. Come in," I pull five mugs out of the cabinet and quickly fill them all with tea before placing the entire tray of tea things on the table.

Emma and Rachel are right on Asher's heels as I suspected they would be. We gather around the table as Rachel hunts around for a box of short bread cookies and takes her own seat. Faust slinks into his customary spot beneath the table, waiting for crumbs to stray.

Emma's hand flies toward my hair—which must be a complete mess—and she begins to pull out twigs and feathers. Nothing stays pristine in the Labyrinth…except its king.

I quickly pick out the white ones and pull them toward me, leaving her the black ones and twigs.

"You saw him again didn't you?" Rachel asks in her whisper soft voice.

"Again?" Clair jumps in.

I take a sip of my tea and think over my answer as my free hand idly toys with one long white feather.

"The Goblin King has agree to hide the girls within the Labyrinth on Hallows Eve if I can't think of something else," I reply. Better to be direct and get the craziest bit out in the open.

Silence.

In a house full of girls it is an unsettling thing and so my words just tumble out into the sun filled kitchen with its herb scented air.

"Janus, the god of doorways, let me into the labyrinth after Asher told me her story. Jareth had already warned me that I wouldn't like it. He was right. And, he knew I'd come looking for him," I stop long enough to take a sip of tea.

"You shouldn't have gone to him," Rachel whispers.

"It's not the same…" I turn to her to explain but Asher interrupts.

"We have to do this together. That's what you said. You can't stand on a podium and lecture us about facing problems as a team and then run off and make deals with fairy kings on your own!"

Clair has the audacity to smile.

"You're absolutely right," I throw my hands up in the air. Oh, how often people use my own words as weapons against me.

"We should talk with Roselyn and James," Clair says.

"I'm sure we should," I agree, shoving a cookie in my mouth and collecting my feathers. Without a word I turn to the shelf against the wall behind me and open a jar. It is already full of similar feathers. Feathers left on my windowsill at night or found along my favorite walking trails. I add the new ones and close the lid. This is the great secret I keep from the others—I am not willing to move on—to leave the Labyrinth.

* * *

"Sarah, that was a foolhardy move," James says in his condescending accent. It only reminds me a little of the Goblin King's.

"James," I smile sweetly across the wrought iron table out in the garden below the weeping willow, "I know that you are the expert of foolhardy moves, having spent three years as a mer-king's enthralled concubine and all but…"

"Sarah," Roselyn chides. She is the oldest of our quartet being somewhere in her fifties, however, you'd think she was much older. She mothers all us. Of course, her father crossed a rather nasty witch back in the 1600s who trapped her as a statue for over three hundred years. That may have had something to do with her increased level of maturity. She woke up still in a teenaged body and naked in a millionaire's conservatory in Rhode Island during the 70s.

"Well," I shrug, "he's acting like I was being completely thoughtless."

"No, just foolish," James smirks.

Clair rolls her eyes at us as Roselyn rubs a hand across her face.

"I've already admitted that I should have waited and talked with you all and the girls first. My actions were rash…but you should've felt the vibes of that passageway into Autumn," I shiver. "I was certain I was right after encountering it."

"That's another thing altogether," Clair jumps in. "You have no business running off to other places with a god!"

"Janus is my friend," I snap.

"A friend you didn't tell us about," James adds.

"I have a feeling Sarah has hidden a great deal from all of us," Roselyn says as she adds some mint to the lemonade Emma had brought out for us earlier in the evening. The shadows in the garden are growing long now, the sun riding low in the western sky, the first stars popping up on the horizon.

I feel beleaguered. And, I suppose it is my own fault. We four founded these houses to protect and nurture people with similar experiences to our own. There's camaraderie here, understanding, and acceptance. No one has to pretend to be perfectly normal, but in someways I am not like them. My experience with Fairy was not traumatizing. It altered my life, but in ways that I'd never change. My only regret is that my pettiness nearly cost me my brother.

"Hiding things is all Sarah can do. Anyone who knows her could tell you she's a gods awful liar," an amused voice comes from behind me.

James, Roselyn, and Clair are staring past me, shock clearly written across their faces.

Jareth collapses into the empty chair beside me immediately pillaging my plate of cookies and hijacking my glass of lemonade.

No one speaks.

"Have any of you met the master of the wild hunt?" he asks between bites of cookie as if this is the most normal thing in the world.

Everyone shakes their heads.

"If you had. You wouldn't be so cavalier. Sarah did the only thing she could to protect the girl, and that was coming to me," Jareth slouches back in his chair and smiles at me. "I brought you a gift."

My heart stops.

A crystal appears in his hand. There's a terrible gleam in his mismatched eyes as he tosses it into the air and the world breaks apart around us.

* * *

Dun Dun Duuun!


	6. Hounds of Hell

At first, I am sure that Jareth has dropped me into an oubliette.

But, my eyes adjust and I realize that I'm on my hands and knees in the courtyard of a castle that's nothing like the one beyond the Goblin City. Truly, it's more fortress than castle. The rough stones beneath my hands are cold and slick with a recent rain. The sky above is storm-dark.

Thunder rumbles overhead and shakes the ground beneath my fingers. A wickedly chill wind grabs at my hair and the thin fabric of my old Star Wars t-shirt as it drenches me in the scent of decaying leaves and salt.

Dragging myself to my feet, I search for any signs of the others, of Jareth.

I am alone.

That is until the front doors of the fortress swing open on creaking hinges and a crowd of overdressed courtiers burst into the courtyard. Some of them transform into animals and dash or fly away from the castle as I push up against the stone wall surrounding the grounds, hoping to avoid being trampled or noticed. After the stampede, a man appears in the doorway.

My breath catches in my lungs followed by a sigh of relief. And then I panic. He had looked so much like Jareth for just a moment, before the feeble daylight reveals his eyes which are not dashingly mismatched, but violently green.

As he stalks down the steps of the castle I can hardly believe that I, even for a moment, mistook him for Jareth. His hair, although the same color of cornsilk, is cut short. They have a similar careless grace, but this man's movements are utterly menacing, and—although I can barely believe it's possible—his features are more elven, his cheekbones sharp enough that a girl could cut herself on them. He is dressed in black from the toes of his knee high boots to the tip of his collared leather doublet—a dark Robin Hood. He's ridiculously, heartrendingly, beautiful.

And, coming right at me.

Fear is such a strange thing. I don't know this man, I don't know where I am, but I know that he is something to fear, something to run from. So, I run.

Heart beating violently in my chest, I flee from the courtyard, and out onto a dirt road. Mountains loom in the distance and a bay stretches on the other side of the road. The forested mountain tops are the color of fire—red, orange, and gold.

And, there's Jareth on the dirt road dressed in brown leather looking like a medieval biker. My heart nearly explodes with relief. The storm darkened sky had disguised the fact that the sun was sinking in the west behind the mountains.

"Jareth!" I run toward him, not even caring that it's his fault that I'm scared out of my wits, I'm so happy to see a familiar face—a more or less—friendly face.

"Hello, Gwyn," Jareth says staring right through me as his most infuriatingly amused grin appears.

"I don't have time for you," a voice, sharp as a dagger, answers.

I wave my hand in front of Jareth's face but he takes no notice of me so I turn and watch the king of the Autumn Court approach and remind myself to apologize to Asher. After seeing Gwyn for myself I can hardly blame her for being enthralled. Yet, I'm not sure I'd have fallen for him, his eyes don't twinkle like Jareth's, they swallow up the light. A girl could drown in eyes like those.

A howl rends the air, than another, and another. Every hair on my body stands to attention.

"You always say that," Jareth cants his head, hands on his hips, clearly amused.

"And, I always mean it," Gwyn cuts the Goblin King a sideways glance, his eyes not quite making contact with Jareth's gaze. His hands, encased in black leather of course, clinch at his sides.

"I only came to congratulate you on the success of your coup," Jareth twirls a wrist, a crystal orb forming at his fingertips, "and regicide always demands a gift don't you think?" Jareth's canines are sharp when his lips curl into a sneer and he tosses the orb to other man.

"It will show you your dreams." Suddenly, Jareth seems every bit as menacing as Gwyn.

And, of course, this is a memory which explains why no one notices me at all. Gwyn took over the Autumn Court ages ago.

Gwyn's eyes settle on the crystal before he smiles to himself and crushes it in his fist, his eyes follow the dust as it's caught in the wind. He is looking right past Jareth. "You're a bit premature. Funny, since you're normally so adept in your timing."

Jareth just smiles.

"You won't change my mind and your tricks won't work. The Autumn Court is mine. You have no power here," Gwyn growls, as a pack of wolfhounds emerges from the forest, the courtyard. They are everywhere all their eyes glow just as green as their master's.

I shiver despite knowing that nothing can harm me in a memory.

"He was a fool, like his father. The court has already sworn its allegiance to me,"Gwyn says.

"This is why I've always preferred goblins," Jareth shrugs. "They are simple creatures, but most are fiercely loyal."

"They're all a bunch of idiots," Gwyn frowns. "I'd kill myself before I'd take on the Labyrinth."

"Another benefit of goblins," Jareth grins at Gwyn who seems bored with the conversation, "job security. I'm the only one who can control a goblin horde. Of course, it doesn't hurt that I can travel across the worlds whenever I want or reorder time or…

"Will you shut up?" Gwyn snaps. "The world may very well end before you conclude your list of perceived accolades."

"I am rather awe inspiriting," Jareth nods seriously.

A man and woman—fey if I were to judge by their perfect beauty—drag a man with flaming red hair out of the courtyard. His eyes are full of fight and fury as he takes in the two fair haired men. It's the little foxy creature raging at their heels that draws my attention—Sir Didymus!

"Halt, I say! Take thine filthy paws off his majesty!" Didymus thumps the man on the shin before trying to bite his ankle.

Jareth stiffens. The corners of his mouth tightening almost imperceptibly. "There's no need to kill him."

The mood has shifted so quickly.

"Jareth?" The redheaded prisoner's eyes fall on the Goblin King. "Hast thou come to aid this vile creature with my demise?"

"Sir," Jareth keeps his hard gaze on Gwyn. "You're looking well."

The man has the courage to laugh. "Aye, well enough to fend off these ruffians!" With a speed I wouldn't have imagined possible the fallen king jabs one of his guards in the ribs and lashes out to bite the other. It seems rather familiar, his outburst. Didymus wastes no time trying to wrestle his king from their grasps. He draws a small sword from the sheath at his belt and jabs it into the lady's foot causing her scream and the hounds to draw even closer.

I, however, don't have the courage to watch whatever happens next. "Jareth!" I turn from the scene and shout to sky. "I understand. I didn't even need this lesson. Please, get me out of here!" A fog is moving in from the bay and it's growing colder as the sun sinks further behind the mountains.

"Let me have him," Jareth steps toward Gwyn, his gloved hand snatching the other man's face and forcing the master of the wild hunt to look him in the eyes. Gwyn stiffens with a snarl, but he locks eyes with the Goblin King, finally.

"No."

"You are too much like a dog for your own good," Jareth smirks. "Not a pleasant type of dog either."

Gwyn laughs. It is the sound of wind smacking bare branches together, or the crackle of a bonfire on a cold evening. How was he not the natural ruler of Autumn? Maybe that was the thing, perhaps the man just claimed his rightful place in the universe with this villainy.

"You did accept my gift, after all. And, I am sure you remember that gifts among our kind are never freely given," Jareth bears his own sharp teeth in a way that could never be termed 'friendly.'

"You're pathetic," Gwyn looks down his nose at the Goblin King.

"Perhaps, but I think you must admit that my timing is in fact still perfect," Jareth replies.

"Take him, if you must. But, if I ever lay eyes on him again, he'll die at my hands."

But Gwyn doesn't do what either I or Jareth expects judging by the momentary flicker of shock that flashes across his features.

Gwyn turns toward the red-haired man, and removes the glove on his right…claw. I cringe as the claw sinks into the ex-king's throat and his scream is added to the blood-curdling voices of the hounds just before it turns to a gurgle. It happened so fast. But, the image lingers as if it's been etched onto the backs of my eyelids. The king of Autumn drops to the ground, dead.

Sir Didymus doesn't waste a moment, he leaps on Gwyn, his sharp little teeth sinking into a leather clad arm.

"No," as silly as it is, I rush toward Didymus. I am right there when Gwyn slashes a cut across the furious creature's eye. Didymus doesn't even cry out, brave little fool.

I'm going to hurl. I'm shaking with anger, fear, and revulsion as Gwyn grabs Didymus by the back of the neck and tosses the one-eyed fox to the ground. The hounds break like the surging of a tide.

"You didn't specify who you wanted to save. I'd be more careful with my words next time if I were you," Gwyn smiles as the hounds rush around him hot on Didymus's heels. "Take him, Jareth. If you can beat my dogs to him."

"Didymus!" Jareth's voice, stops the fear crazed animal in its tracks. And, Jareth is just able to scoop him up before the dogs descend. The Goblin King casts Gwyn one hateful glance before he and the fox vanish into thin air and the world goes dark around me.

* * *

I'm on my feet, the wrought iron chair crashing to the ground as I scramble away from the images still tormenting my mind. Apparently, the others are having a similar reaction.

"Gods," James mumbles from the ground, his legs tangled with those of his upset chair.

"That poor man!" Clair has tear tracks running down her dark skinned cheeks. "…the little dog! What a monster!"

"What the hell was that?" Roselyn's brown eyes are darting about the garden. The sun is gone, and only a trace of pink lingers on the horizon. An owl watches us from the branches of the willow tree.

"That is what's coming for us in three months," I say my eyes fixated on the owl who cants his head at me.

We all nearly leap out of our skin as Faust darts from under a hydrangea bush with a happy bark.

"Well," James picks himself up off the ground and rights the chair before dusting himself off, "I'd say that Sarah may have had a fair point after all."

"Right," Clair nods, "I need to get back to my house."

"As do I," Roselyn replies. "We still need to think on this problem. I'm not sure hiding the girl for one night is going to get us anywhere."

"It's better than nothing," I answer pushing my chair beneath the table as the owl launches himself from the branch and vanishes into the night sky. "But, I begin to worry that we may all be in great danger."

Roselyn's eyes meet mine as she nods grimly.

I need a cup of tea.

_Poor Sir Didymus._


	7. Adventures in Apple Picking

Was it September already?

The summer has slipped away and I am no closer to discovering a way to help my little hellion. October simply looms on the horizon. And what an October it will be—a cauldron of fairy promises and pirate dreams.

"Sarah, are you sure that this is necessary?" Asher asks, the large white gloves slipping down her arms as we survey the garden.

"Absolutely necessary," Emma says while she sets to work placing the little fairy homes under the fading rose bushes. The peonies are brown sad masses of dried leaves. The black eyed Susan's are wilting.

"The fairies don't like the cold," Rachel adds, settling her own house amongst the fading flowers.

"Maybe they'd just leave when the winter came? Would that be so very bad?" Asher asks me.

I hold up my fairy house, painted blue and green, "It is not the fairies' fault that they are here, but they are mine, and I shall see them properly housed. The nights are cold, they like the houses." I hang the little thing in the branches of an apple tree. A blond fairy immediately claims it only to fall into a brawl with a red head over the prime realestate. I don't interfere, it is the nature of fairies—large and small—to be pugnitious. Termagants the lot of them.

Asher has an assortment of yellow and green houses that she begrudgingly shoves under the azaleas. All is right in the world for a moment.

"Heeeeyyyy laaaaadyyyy!" A pair of yellow eyes pops out of the tree above me, nearly startling me out of my skin.

Every head, fairy and otherwise, turns my direction. The girls are bunched around me in a second.

I don't recognize this goblin. "Yes?"

The goblin's wide eyes flit from my face to the girl's as he dangles upside down in the tree above us like a bad caricature of a bat.

"You and the little ladies are invited to the Goblin City for the annual…" the goblin scrunches up his face in consideration, "ah, the annual apple pickin' festival and match."

"Don't forget the rest," hisses another voice from the tree.

"His majesty would be honored if you'd all attend…"the bat goblin begins.

"GREATLY honored, you imbecile. He said to use his exact words!" Snarles the tree.

"His majesty would be _greatly_ honored if you'd all attend," the goblin says rolling his eyes. "What do you say?"

The girls look at me, eyes wide and pleading. I am not supposed to be dragging them into fairy worlds to pick—_possibly enchanted_—fruit and doing gods only knew what else.

But, of course, I want to.

"His majesty also said to tell you, if you appeared reluctant…which you do…to remember that you still owe him a favor," the voice in the tree says. I'm unsure why the tree voice wasn't allocated the messenger's position in the first place. He is obviously taking this assignment rather seriously.

"Please, Sarah," Emma says. "What harm could it do?"

Rachel is more hesitant, "They seem friendly."

"They are, until they aren't," I say, glaring at the goblin above. "Think of the fairies."

"Ick," Asher frowns. "Maybe it's not a good idea."

Although if this one little thing would cancel out my debt to Jareth before I even have to rely on his aid…well it didn't sound so bad…

"Fine," I tell the bogglely-eyed bat goblin. "Tell him we will be there. But, we have some conditions."

"Ok," says the tree. The goblin bat is too busy ogling fairies.

"Number one—he must make sure we arrive home the moment right after we depart. I know he can do it, and he'll have to. Number two—no ENCHANTED fruit. Number three—no tricks, of any kind!"

"The last will be hard," the tree sighs.

"Too bad," I reply. "Give him my conditions."

Everything was silent a moment. Then a second goblin head poked out of the tree, it was beaky and birdlike. "He says, 'Fine'." The former tree voice informs us.

"Fine?" Asher eyed me. "That hardly sounds royal."

"Good," I smile at the goblins, ignoring Asher's statement. Jareth is simply indescribable, I will not waste my time trying.

"When is this Apple picking festival and match?" I ask.

"Tomorrow evening," replies the bat.

"Lovely," I sigh.

00oo00ooOO00

A crystal appears on our dining room table at three o'clock the next day. We crowd around it.

"What is it?" Asks Emma.

"Our way into the labyrinth, I believe," I answer, suddenly beset with misgivings. Why must I be so conflicted? I want to see him, but I don't. I want to return, but I don't. Oh, there are so many things that I want…but I don't! It is intolerable. I chew on my bottom lip, trying to get my thoughts to settle.

Tenatively, I reach out to take the crystal. Clouds of pearlescent mist swirl within its depths. Lovely and mysterious.

"Let's clasp hands," I say, not knowing if physical contact matters in this instance.

Asher grabs my wrist since the crystal rests in the hand nearest her, Rachel takes the other while Emma bridges us all together. "Ready?" I ask.

Three nods form my answer.

The words come warily to my lips, "I wish the goblin king would take us away…right now."

The dusky haze of the Labyrinth reaches over our heads as we blink past the feelings of transportation. Trees, forming twisting turning corridors, stretch and bend around us. The limbs are bursting with ripe red fruit—so red they are nearly black.

"You can pick, but don't you dare eat any of that," I warn, dropping their hands.

"Now Sarah, you know I wouldn't lie to you. Not a single apple is the lest bit enchanted, as I promised," Jareth's voice comes from directly behind me, of course.

"You didn't exactly promise, your majesty. You said, and I quote, "Fine."

"I am a creature of few words," Jareth is smiling when I turn to face him, my green calico dress whirling about my knees as I cast him a grin of my own.

"Only when you choose to be," I roll my eyes, but not before getting a good look at him. My girls are standing in stunned silence, and I can't blame them for that.

Jareth too, is in green, a green waistcoat actually. It is a stunning color somewhere between emerald and hunter, and it looks perfect with his black velvet coat, his shiny black boats.

"You look so much like him," I hear Asher say.

Jareth's head tilts as his discordant eyes shift to my right.

"Our similarities end there, I'm afraid," Jareth doesn't bother pretending that he doesn't know who she's talking about.

"And, Asher, you must admit, his majesty is much more handsome," I say, trying to lighten the sudden tension on the girl's face.

"Have you been reduced to flatter, Sarah," Jareth sneers. "It is unbecoming."

Rachel lets out a soft giggle and Asher smiles.

"Welcome, ladies," Jareth inclines his head toward us. Baskets appear in their hands and the quiet of the orchard is disturbed by a cacophony from above. The trees are full of goblins.

They leap from the branches and scuttle across the winding avenues between the labyrinthine trees—all clutching baskets. A couple of Fireys have replaced their heads with baskets while tucking their grinning faces under their arms. The girls' eyes are wide with wonder.

"Well, go on. Have fun," the king waves his hand in dismissal and the girls don't hesitate, they flee into the melee, leaving me basketless before the king.

"Am I not participating?" I ask, eyes narrowing.

"I had other, more adult plans for us," his hands are clasped behind his back while he grins in my direction.

"More adult than apple picking? And apple matches? What is an apple match exactly?" I ask, putting my own hands in the pockets of my dress.

"You shall see, but you'd rather be a spectator, I'm sure," Jareth drawls.

"Fine."

"Now you're mocking me," he shakes his head, then extends a gloved hand to me.

My eyes move from his hand to his face. "What type of adult activity do you have in mind?"

"Nothing scandalous," he rolls his eyes. "Where has your sense of adventure gone, Sarah?"

I am plenty adventurous! Before I can second guess the move, I put my hand in his.

* * *

Thank you for sticking with this story. I realize I am not very good at posting regularly—to be fair, I am in the middle of writing a novel with a friend and that sucks up most of my creative powers. However, I really want to have this story keep up with our real world calendar, so you'll probably see additions a little more regularly from here on out.


	8. War Games and Waltzes

There's a tiny sense of disorientation and then we are standing in a part of the castle I've never seen before. It's a large balcony overlooking the orchard. Goblin voices filter up to us from the trees and I can clearly pick out my girls who are not the lest put out by their companions as they race from tree to tree. Their apples disappear nearly as soon as they are dropped into the baskets. Quick goblin hands thriving them away.

Asher lands a smack on the nose of a blazing orange Fiery who collapses in a giggly heap still clutching his pilfered fruit in a disembodied paw.

"They seem to be having fun," I say.

"Everyone has fun here."

"Are we having fun?" I turn to face him.

"Of course," he smiles. "Although, we could always be having more fun."

"What are we doing up here, _your majesty_?"

"First things first, I need to get you out of that dress," he says.

I can feel my face flame red as I start to scald him…

"As perfect as it is for a walk around the orchards, it will never do for a party," he cuts me off. "Really, Sarah. If I had a mind to seduce you, surely you realize I'd go about it in a more eloquent manner."

I ignore that last statement. "A party? I told you no tricks Jareth, you promised!" I jab a finger into his chest.

"I said, _fine_." He grins. "That hardly sounds like a promise to me. I was acknowledging that you'd set forth terms. I never truly agreed to them."

I want to smack him. "How many annual apple picking festivals and matches have there been?"

"Counting this one? Just one," his eyes are laughing at me.

The urge to stomp my foot is strong, but I take a deep breath instead. "Why should I go to a party with you?"

"Someone we have an interest in will be there. You see, since your last visit, I've been thinking…"

"That's terrifying." I narrow my eyes at him.

"Nevertheless, I feel that if we put our two, admittedly devious minds together, we can come up with a way to shake my lovely cousin…"

"Your cousin?"

"Did you not see the resemblance? He is a distant cousin, and as you said, I am far more handsome. I can see how you missed it. You have eyes only for me after all…"

"Your arrogance knows no bounds," I shake my head.

Jareth leans toward me suddenly, "Am I wrong?" There's no levity the words.

My eyes immediately find his lips, which curve into an delighted smirk. I sigh. There's no sense in lying to him or myself, so I don't answer. "You brought the girls here so I wouldn't worry about them while we crash this party."

"They are safe here. No one would even think to look for them in the Labyrinth. And, if they did, they wouldn't dare," he answers. "Ishmael, or whatever he's calling himself today, will keep an eye on them. Higgle and Didymus are down there as well."

"Alright," I answer feeling a silly sense of excitement. "And, you know his name is Hoggle."

"Do I?"

I can only shake my head in exasperation. There has been so much head shaking already and the evening just started.

0ooOoo0

Ashamedly, I find myself clutching Jareth's velvet clad arm. I catch sight of us in a mirrored wall that makes me think unkindly of peach induced dreams, but I know who I am now, and I know him. We look charming together. I am dark where he is fair and the ethereal dress matches his waistcoat perfectly. Not an accident, I'm sure.

"The crown was too much Jareth," I hiss in his ear as we watch fairy couples dance and twirl across a blue tiled floor. We are in the Summer Court. They are celebrating the last five days of the season—heartily.

Wine flows from fountains, birds sing from the trees that make up the Court's columns. It's beautiful and intoxicating.

"It's not a crown, Sarah. It's a diadem."

"Same thing, Jareth."

"No, a diadem is more like a headband," he shrugs. "Do you want to dance?"

"Will I dance until my feet fall off?" I eye the mortals meandering through the crowds wearily. They seem so happy…I don't trust that look at all.

"Stop being such an old maid," he slips my hand into his and pulls me onto the floor.

"I am not an old maid," I growl as his arms come around me. My pulse quickens and I try to not think about how good he smells or how much I like the playfulness in his eyes.

"A fact of which I am very aware," he whispers into my ear.

For a while we just dance. But, when we stop he hands me a flask, "Just water. I'm sure you know better than to drink from the fountains."

"Thank you," I am thirsty, and despite my usual protests, I trust him—a little.

"Hello, Sarah," says a chilly voice.

I look up to find Frost, alarmingly charming, dressed in his blues and silvers. "Frost," I don't want to have a conversation with him. I really don't.

"You look well," his eyes are so pale, they are nearly white, except for the dark navy ring around his irises. They are the type of eyes that bewitch the unexpecting, I am not one of those.

"As do you dear," I say as sweetly as possible.

Jareth is watching the exchange with an arched eyebrow.

"Thank you," Frost smiles, his whole face fills with impish mischief. "Autumn is so near. It is one of my favorite times of year."

"I know it is," I draw, not able to stop my eyes from rolling.

"How is she?" He leans toward me and I sincerely hope that he doesn't have the sense to unite with Gwyn. If the two of them get together I will certainly be in over my head. Out of my three charges, Emma is the only one I don't fear for still. Her vampire hasn't been seen in such a long time. He's probably returned to his forest haunts and easy tourists in Eastern Europe. If only it were so easy to shake these fairy men.

"I'm not talking about her with you," I look away, dismissing him.

"You're such a hypocrite, Sarah." Frost sighs. "Just look at you all trussed up, the ornament on my dear cousin's arm."

"Are you related to every white haired fairy in existence?" I turn to Jareth with a glare. It's unbelievable, I should've suspected it.

"Only the aristocratic ones," Jareth grins. "If it helps, we all hate each other."

Why am I not surprised.

Turning back to Frost, "I'm not a hypocrite! He is helping me, I am not here for him."

"No one uses the Goblin King," Frost stares at me pityingly. "You've overestimated yourself, Sarah."

"I beat him!" I growl.

"She's practically feral," a not-entirely-unfamiliar voice draws. There's a heavy scent of earth and dry leaves. It isn't unpleasant, just unnerving.

Gwyn has appeared out of nowhere, he spares me only a cursory glance, his eyes not meeting anyone else's, like he can't bare the contact. "I will have the next dance," he stares at the space between Jareth and myself.

"Did you ask?" Jareth's voice is colder than Frost's had been.

"Do you mind?" It's hard to tell from whom he's requesting permission. The feminist in me finds this a little too hard to ignore. "I suppose I can spare you a dance."

The King of the Autumn Court takes my hand and I reluctantly let go of Jareth, not certain this is a good idea at all. But, I don't embarrass myself, I look straight ahead, and pretend that I am haughty enough for the damned diadem upon my head.

Then I remember the gloved hand holding mine is actually a claw and my heart does a strange flip-flop. I should've stayed with Jareth. This was a mistake.

Except that Jareth doesn't make mistakes—unless he is busy underestimating young girls. There is something I need to get from Gwyn. Putting on my best I-dance-with-fairy-kings-all-the-time face, I place my hand on Gwyn's shoulder as his comes around my waist and the stirrings of a waltz descend upon the ballroom.

Gwyn's gaze stays on my lips, but not in a way that makes me think he's attracted to me. No, he just doesn't like to meet the eyes of other people. We whirl around the dance floor—of course, he is a marvelous dancer.

I can't help but ask, "Why her?" If Gwyn is infatuated with Asher, the man is more of a mystery that I'd previously thought. He doesn't strike me as the romantic type, or the anything type. I certainly can't imagine a world in which he is—what had she said—charming?

A small, somewhat vicious, smile curves his lips. I find I too am avoiding eye contact.

Fairy's don't lie. Sometimes they talk around the truth, but Gwyn doesn't mince words. "She made me laugh, once."

"So, you intend to hire her on as your jester?" My eyes move to his but I immediately have to look somewhere else.

"I don't have to explain myself to you," his voice is rough and husky, so different from Jareth's silken tones. "The girl made me a promise, and I will collect on it," he leads us into a dizzying twirl, perfectly in sync with the other dancers. "I suggest you put all notions of standing in my way aside."

"I can't do that," my eyes land on the silver buttons of his black coat.

"When you take my words back to the Goblin King, he will tell you much the same thing. He needed to know what type of relationship I had with the girl, that's why he gave you up to me so easily. He doesn't like to share his things," he sends me spinning out and draws me roughly back into him. "Promises in our world are not like the petty things that pass for such in yours."

His eyes meet mine for the first time. They are so violently green, so demanding, "I will have her."

The music comes to an end, Gwyn bows elegantly in my direction and leaves me standing there, pondering his words.

_She made me laugh, once_.

"Damn," I say.

"That was excruciating," Jareth has taken my hand and pulled me into him, another dance has started and he draws us effortlessly into it. Thankfully, he has lost Frost.

"He gives me the creeps," I say.

"Me too," Jareth chuckles. "Even as a child, actually, it was worse then. A child should never be that cold."

"Frost?" I frown in confusion.

"No, the other one. Frost isn't cold, just asinine."

"He's in love with her," I feel my shoulders sink in defeat. "Why is it that they always fall in love? It would be so much easy if they didn't."

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean."

Blood rushes to my face in a wave of heat and I hurry on, "She's made him so kind of promise."

"Who?"

"Asher."

"Oh, we've moved beyond Frost then? I can't keep up with you it seems."

I roll my eyes as we spin around and around.

"That makes things difficult," Jareth replies. "You may be able to hide her this year, but for how long will that be a viable option?"

"How does one break a promise to a fairy king?" I ask.

"You don't," Jareth's eyes catch mine. "What's said, is said."

"She'll have to honor whatever the promise is…" my mind is whirling along with our feet. "I need to find out exactly what she's promised him. We can't break it, but maybe there is a way around it?"

"Perhaps?" Jareth grins.

"Can we go back now?" I ask as the music slows once more and the dancers with it.

"Your wish is my command," Jareth replies.

In a blink, I open my eyes to see the twilight haze of the Labyrinth. The orchard has descended into a battleground. Apples are hurled across the lanes, smashing into makeshift barriers as goblins and girls duck for cover. Emma is leading a troop of goblins against Asher. It seems Rachel and Ishmael are hiding in a tree, engaging in guerrilla warfare all on their own.

"Is that an Apple Match?" I ask as a cool breeze ruffles my hair while I stand near the concrete railing, very glad to not be a part of whatever is happening below. It seems sticky and quite possibly painful. I can't help but wince as an apple takes the head right off a disgruntled Fiery.

Jareth's gloved hands land on either side of mine as his body suddenly cages mine against the sides of the balcony. I stiffen but don't move as my heart rate excellrates. An ambush, I did not expect. It's hard to remember that we only play on the same team occasionally.

"Hmm," he answers enigmatically, his lips very close to my ear. "I didn't like seeing you dance with him. The bastard is a regrettably good dancer."

"Swept me right off my feet," I can't help but say.

"Turn around," he whispers in my ear. A small warmth pulls in my stomach and I seriously consider leaping off the balcony. Instead, I do as he says.

Gloved hands find my waist, lift me from the floor and set me on the stone I was so recently leaning against. Instinctively, I reach for him, knowing there is nothing at my back to save me from a fall.

He has already moved in, ruching up my dress, sliding in between my knees.

"Jareth," I hate to hear the note of panic in my own voice.

"Sarah," his hands are still on my waist, but his lips are on my throat.

Oh what the hell. My fingers sink into his hair as our lips find each other. His kisses are teasing and light. When I lean forward he draws back, setting me off balance, before he strikes again. There is more than one type of war game happening in the Labyrinth this evening.

His hands slid up my ribs while mine tug at the lapels of his coat. My mind has wandered elsewhere as his teeth and tongue drive me crazy. I'm practically purring in his hands and I don't care.

"Sarah?" A whisper soft voice.

I push away from him with such force that were he not holding me, I'd surely be a puddle on the stone courtyard below.

Rachel is standing in the doorway of the balcony, eyes wide.

There's an irredeemable smirk on Jareth's well kissed lips as he steps aside and sets me on my unstable feet. My knees are weak. This is intolerable.

"You won this one," I mutter before collecting whatever dignity I have left and turning to Rachel. "Can you send us home?"

"Oh Sarah, you know there's nothing I wouldn't do for you," he smiles.

Maybe Frost was right. Perhaps I am the one underestimating my opponent in this round.


	9. Hearts and Haze

Janus' key is heavy in my hand. It's five days until All Hallows' Eve and I've got a plan.

Tip-toeing down the hall, I make my way to Asher's room. Light glows beneath the door—she must still be awake. The time has come to figure out what exactly it was that she promised the Autumn King, but she has to know that I understand. She needs to trust me.

Knocking gently, I push the door open to find her sitting cross legged on the bed, a book in her lap.

"Evening, Asher," I say, closing the door behind me. "Would you like to go on an adventure?"

Asher's eyes narrow, but she closes the book and climbs to her feet. "Where?"

"The past," I say, grimly. "Mine, not yours." Not yet.

"Ok," she replies, ducking to find her shoes. "Let's do this." The grave expression she wears tells me she knows where this is going to lead, but she's willing to see it through.

Turning back toward the door I just came in, I insert Janus's key into an old fashioned keyhole which wasn't there before and give it a twist. When the door opens, I pull out the key and beckon her forward.

The world beyond the door is a white haze. Of course, I'd bring her here first—to the place where desire initially claimed me—a glimmering mimic of a ballroom.

"What is this?" Asher asks as we walk into the memory. The masked attendants don't pay us any mind as we pass a sunken sitting area and climb up the almost disembodied staircase. Reality holds no sway in the Labyrinth let alone the dreams born within it.

"This is where I realized the Goblin King wasn't just after my brother, wasn't just meeting the demands of a wish gone awry. Our game morphed into something very different while I raged against the clock and rampaged through his world," I say, pointing toward a humongous pile of hair in the distance as I motion for Asher to take a seat on the edge of the floating stairs with me. It is the best view of the bubble ballroom.

"Is that you?" She asks in not so subtle disbelief. "You're so young and that dress is ridiculous."

"Shush, it was the 80's a strange and troubling time for fashion. We depleted half the ozone with hairspray alone that decade," I say, smiling as my younger self stares around her, eyes wide and uncertain. "Look."

Asher turns her attention on memory me.

It is strange to smile at myself. So young, so innocent. And, there's the king, his ancient feral eyes watching me. What on earth did he see in me? I hardly understood what I saw in him.

It is clear now. We are both fierce, dramatic, and absurd. The perfect playmates despite his immortal years and my mortal fragility. The pleasure he takes twirling me about this dream world is amusing now, even it felt bitter and confusing to me then. I just wanted him to kiss me. Why did he not kiss me then?

"You two don't look so strange together," Asher whispers. "Oh shit you're running. What are you doing with that chair...you didn't?" She turns to me as the ballroom explodes around us. People laughing, screams, as the world goes tipsy turvy, downside up.

We are standing in a junkyard now, the castle in the distance.

"You busted it," Asher says, a little awed.

"I did, it wasn't real, and I had to find my brother. It was my fault he was in trouble, but I knew then that he wasn't the only one. It's hard to want someone who doesn't necessarily think or feel the way you do. Jareth wants me, but..." I start, taking Janus's key and fitting it in the keyhole of a broken door beneath our feet.

"...he wants me on his terms," I finish, leading her into another memory, the edges of this one soft and dreamlike too.

"Everything that you wanted I have done. You asked that the child be taken. I took him. You cowered before me, I was frightening. I have reordered time. I have turned the world upside down, and I have done it all for you. I am exhausted from living up to your expectations. Isn't that generous?" He asks, so bewildered.

"The poor Goblin King, confused and torn. He'd never meant to love me," I tell Asher, as I watch a girl who is braver than I am know face him. "The immortal don't understand our fickleness, the levity of our wishes. Their words are true. He did everything right, but it was oh so wrong."

"I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave," Jareth says, as we watch.

"Oh, come on," I grab her hand and yank her over to a floating shard of door. There's no logic to the gravity in this place. I've only just found the keyhole when those world-ending words fill the air.

"You have no power over me."

The door swings open as once again the younger me rips a hole in Jareth's realm, and probably his heart. I pull Asher into the dark halls of Janus's palace just in time.

"You have no power over me!" Asher rounds on me with those wide eyes of hers. "You actually said that?"

"Well, to be fair, the words weren't mine. They were from a story, but stories are the best places to find magic words." I shrug. "You see, I'd already won. I'd made my way through the Labyrinth and I'd found Toby. The terms of our initial exchange were met. That was just the king trying valiantly to make a last deal, but you can't make deals with the fae. You can't make them promises. There's no way out of them once you do."

My hands are on my hips as my eyes meet hers. "Now I need to know what happened between you and Gywn. So we can figure out how to stop him."

The girl's shoulders slump as she reaches for the key I pulled out of my pocket once more.

"You don't have to show me, but knowledge is our best weapon against what is coming...in a few days time," I say.

"I know," Asher says, taking the key and crossing over to one of the gateways which has conjured up a solid door for her to use.

A cold wind whistles through the bare tree limbs on what has to be Halloween night. The full-bellied moon hangs heavy above the twisted fingers of the tree-line in the distance.

We are in a park. The setting feels familiar because of the obelisk—the obelisks. Park it is not.

"A graveyard on Halloween? Really, Asher?" I can't help but roll my eyes even if she can't see me in the dark.

The girl doesn't answer as she steps around the nearest tombstone. A candle burns in the distance and memory Asher sits beside it, tears in her Bette Davis eyes.

I move closer to the memory girl. Her honey colored hair catches the moonlight as it stirs in the wind, black eyeliner smudged against her pale skin. She might be dressed as a Victorian vampire, black lace dress and gloves to match, but I can't be sure.

"Never found he rest and quiet; Ever in this awful riot. Must he hurry on half-crazed. Nearest him, of all the shadows, coursing over lake and glade, through the night-mist of the meadows, was a pale and slender maid," a cold voice says as a wraithlike man ambles down the steps of a nearby tomb. He hadn't been there a moment before, or at least I hadn't seen him. It figures the master of the wild hunt would lead with poetry when locking eyes on a helpless girl.

Asher startles, jumping up from her seat to put the candle between herself and the sharp-eyed man now sharing the graveyard with her. It would be easy to have assumed he wore a costume. The knee high hessians, the leather jerkin over a white shirt with billowing sleeves—he looks just like a character from a well financed period drama. Well, except for fae features and burning eyes.

"Why are you crying?" Gwyn asks, his eyes not meeting hers.

Asher just stares like a deer caught in the headlights. At first she doesn't answer. There's so much sorrow written in the lines of her face, her eyes blaze against the black of her mascara. "It's stupid," she finally says.

"How can something stupid cause you to weep so? I heard your sadness as I passed by," Gwyn leans against the tomb, arms crossed.

Asher bites down hard on her lip as she looks him over once again. I would've known he was nothing but trouble. Of course, like her, that probably wouldn't have stopped me.

"There was a dance at school," Asher begins. "I was supposed to go with Adam Thompson, but he didn't pick me up. When I got to the dance, he was with another girl. I couldn't stay, it was too embarrassing, but I can't go home yet either, so I came here to visit Aida." Asher points to the tombstone the candle sits upon.

"If she hadn't died, I would've just gone with her and everything would be fine," Asher dragged a hand across her eyes, smearing the black liner even more.

"Your sister?" Gwyn asks.

"My twin," Asher nods. "It sucks."

"You shouldn't waste your tears on boys," Gwyn says, pushing off the tomb, taking her chin in his gloved hand. Which I know is actually a claw. The very idea of his hands on her face makes me shiver. "There are more significant things to cry over."

Asher doesn't move, but her eyes find his. Gwyn doesn't look away this time. "Have many girls wasted their tears on you?"

The master of the wild hunt, the Autumn King, cants his head and smiles.

"They have haven't they," Asher grins, brave, stupid girl. "You've left a trail of broken hearts in your wake."

"I assure you, I have not," Gwyn answers. "The hearts I break rarely belong to young girls."

"Oh, I think I'd love to have my heart broken by you," Asher says, reaching out to brush her fingers against his sharp cheek.

If I didn't need to see this, I'd bury my face in my hands. The audacity of youth.

Gwyn laughs. It is a soft, self-deprecating sound. "Would you? I think it likely you'd break mine."

"Would you let me?" Asher tilts her head back, leans in toward him. The little tart.

"Yes, I think I might. Will you promise to mend it once you've cracked it open?"

No. No. NO. Physically, I take a step toward them even though I know there's nothing I can do to stop this. How can he ask her to make such a deal?

"Will you promise to be mine?" Gwyn asks, dipping his head close to hers. The heartbeat before his lips ghost over hers she says yes.

Damn it.

What the hell am I supposed to do with that?

I turn to catch the current Asher's eyes. They are full of tears once more. Grabbing her hand, I drag her up to the tomb and insert Janus's key, pulling us back into her bedroom.

"You deserve honesty. I have no idea how we are getting you out of this one," I say, shaking my head at the girl.

"It's hopeless," she says, falling back on the bed. "I just thought he was a strange boy. You know, pale, beautiful, perfect."

"You've just described every bad idea I've ever encountered," I reply. "Well, it's a good thing we can hide you in the Labyrinth. I suppose this will be a yearly event."

Without another word—I am speechless really—I wave her a goodnight and slip out into the hall, retreating to my own room. But, before I step inside, a bad idea all my own convinces me to put Janus's key into a door once more. Turning the knob, I step into the Labyrinth.

The place is in an uproar. Two steps inside and Ismael hands me a rapier. Maybe I should've just gone to bed.

* * *

I am the worst. I freely admit it. I've been working on a novel, which is now finished, and I am querying! Very exciting, but I am still a horrible fic delaying monster. I will get the last chapters of this story up! I have them planned!


	10. Schemes and Skirmishes

"What is the meaning of this, Ishmael?" I quirk an eyebrow to examine the furry little critter. He has lost the eyepatch and now wears a blue cape that may have been a tablecloth in another life. The blade feels oddly satisfying in my hand.

"D'Artagnan," the creature says seriously. Pausing a moment, I absorb this new identity and mentally prepare myself for whatever the hell comes next. "What is the meaning of this, D'Artagnan?"

"The Phantom has our lady Christine trapped in yonder dungeons," D'Artagnan replies with all the seriousness of a broadway star. That's when I realize the cacophony that assaulted me upon arrival is actually the sound of goblins singing opera.

_Gods_.

"The dungeons you say?" I set off across the throne room, bypassing the wending stairs that lead to rooms with which I'm now a little more familiar.

"Right, Vicomte de Chagny." D'Artagnan skips ahead and grabs a flaming torch before proceeding me down the stairs.

"I don't want to be Raoul!" I complain hurtling down the stairs after him. "Raoul is boring!"

The identity challenged goblin casts a glower over his shoulder. "Keep your hand at the level of your eyes."

"Please tell me you've cast his majesty as our Lady Christine," I say, following the torch—which wavers about hip height—down the stairs, the air growing damp.

D'Artagnan does not humor me with a response. Organ music, which was faint and undetectable beneath the clamor of goblin singing, swells as we approach a gondola and an underground canal.

"Seriously?" I ask no one in particular before stepping into the boat and allowing D'Artagnan to row us onward. What am I doing? Why am I here playing pretend when there are problems to sort out? The moment trouble knocks at my door, I turn to set the whole house on fire.

The music continues to build as we drift into a near perfect replica of the throne room, it is simply filled with water, lacking windows, and clothed in flickering shadows. In a word, it is ominous.

To my everlasting disappointment, a rather unfetching goblin lass has been cast as Christine. She waits, dutifully trussed up in a wedding dress, and bound by ropes upon the replicated throne as Jareth hammers away at the organ.

"Raoul," cries Christine, unenthusiastically. "Oh Raoul, save me."

Jareth doesn't turn around, he just keeps playing. "Don't think about it you great prat. Obviously, she's all mine," drawls the Goblin King, sounding weary of life itself.

It's impossible to stop a grin from seizing my lips. He doesn't know I'm here. How can he not know? Doesn't he know everything always?

I tip my head toward the trussed up goblin-Christine, hoping D'Artagnan will take initiative and rescue the damsel. Confused, he may be, but that fuzzy little critter scurries over and begins hacking away at her bindings with his rusty dagger.

"Not for long," I call across the expanse of stone flanked on either side by dingy water.

Jareth's shoulders stiffen, but his fingers don't miss a key, don't strike a single wrong note. Slowly, he turns on the bench and locks eyes with me across the way. The organ continues to play itself.

He is appropriately attired for his role, black and white, the neck of his shirt open. But the Goblin King doesn't bother with a mask. With a face as perfect in its sharp beauty as his, why bother?

With his electric gaze holding mine, the game seems to intensify. We pay no attention at all to goblin-Christine and her incongruous musketeer as they struggle to make a clean exit from the dungeon.

Jareth stands, rapier appearing in his hand. "Raoul is boring," the king informs me.

Although I am entirely of the same opinion, I keep it to myself. "You should know that kidnapping young girls never ends well."

"She's not so young. The chit knew what she was doing, she shouldn't have encouraged me," Jareth—who is very much not the phantom—says. It is painfully clear that he isn't referring to lanky haired goblin-Christine either.

"Did she?" I bring the blade up, moving into position. Let it be known, I am no swords-woman, but I did take a few fencing lessons for theater back in college. All the same, my heartbeat ratchets as the king draws near with his lazy prowl, his wolffish grin.

"She did," he says, advancing and parring from the wrist to my right.

I manage to block him and retreat.

"She drew me in with the challenge of her eyes," steel meets steel as he continues his assault, "with the bite of her words." He just misses my arm, but I take initiative, and parring from the shoulder, nearly manage to land a blow to his side, before he deflects. "Lured me with her innocence and recklessness," Jareth says, advancing once more.

This time our blades lock with a resounding clash and the heel of my shoe slips off the side of the stone walkway. I barely manage to push him off and retreat toward the wrong side of the dungeon, nothing waits behind me but the organ, I'm cornered already, my lungs begging for air.

When did this stop being a game? What the hell are we doing? A cool sweat sticks the flannel shirt to my back as I take another reverse step. Butterflies, or possibly bats, have taken wing beneath my ribs as he gives me a moment to catch my breath.

"I highly doubt she meant to cause you such trouble," I lie. I realized by the end of my run in the Labyrinth that we'd somehow changed. When he appeared in the window that night so long ago, he'd looked at me with disinterest, with boredom. Who could blame him? I was another silly child to be bought off with gifts and sent on her way. I was insignificant. And, he was terrifying.

But, as the hours went on, the expression in his eyes had changed. By the end it was I who was terrifying and he who was rendered insignificant, powerless. We'd changed places and now what were we? Two beings separated by nature and understanding. By worlds and ever constant ticking of the clock? Forever really is a long time. It is harder than you'd think to move the stars. He couldn't rule me. I couldn't love him that way. Even if part of me wanted to.

Jareth is done with words. The rapiers dance in ringing clashes as he advances once more, catching me off guard. He'd been holding back before—of course he's the better swordsman. Within moments he's disarmed me, my blade making a splash as it skitters over the edge of the walkway. The point of his sword rests gently beneath my chin. At least he didn't shove me into the murky waters.

"Congratulations, you've got me," I say with infinitely more bravado than I'm feeling. We've dislodged the bench and the organ has me well and trapped against it.

There's no playfulness in the king's eyes as the blade disappears and he steps in close to me, herding me back against the instrument which sings out in protest. It had stopped playing itself while we fought.

My heart rages against the confines of my ribcage as Jareth tips me further off balance, his gloved hands landing on either side of me. The instrument fusses at the abuse as I'm forcibly captured and sat atop the ledge over the keys.

"Jareth," I squeak as he slips between my legs, our faces inches apart. It isn't dignified. It seems I'd let the king lure me into a false sense of security during our last few encounters. He is devious as ever.

"I do have you," he says, voice low and deadly. One of his hands caress my cheek.

"This isn't the way it goes," I say, trying to hear my own thoughts above the din of my pulse. "The phantom doesn't suddenly fall for Raoul."

"Raoul is rarely this alluring," Jareth says, his thumb sweeping over my bottom lip.

_Gods_.

I may as well be a seventeen year old girl in a graveyard kissing pale, beautiful, perfect mistakes.

As fierce as he was with the sword, his lips are furious when they claim mine. Claim is a good word because each kiss is an act of possession, a stake being driven into my traitorous heart.

All good sense gone, my fingers curl into the silk of his shirt and draw him nearer as desire pulls me down into a certain insanity. His hands and teeth are everywhere, my shirt a forgotten puddle of fabric on the floor at our feet.

Feverishly, I tug his over his feathery head and nearly shatter as our bare skin meets to the auditable umbrage of the organ. But, the dungeon fades away between one blink and another and I find myself lost in his nest of a bed. A welcome improvement as we do away with the articles of clothing remaining between us.

I will not think about how this is a reckless, awful, idea. I will not.

Lost in the dark, his bare fingers dance across my skin not missing a key, not hitting a single wrong note as he plays me every bit as well as he did the organ.

"You're absolutely horrid." I can't catch my breath or latch onto a single thought as he steals inside me like a thief in the night. My entire body sings its praise at the invasion. The loathsome, treasonous thing.

"I know," he smiles into my throat, tension building as our bodies say all the things we won't. "And, you love it."

The world breaks apart, and he captures my cries with his lips, not allowing me to keep anything to myself, before his teeth find my shoulder and his own body tenses with release. It hurts, but that's alright. It should hurt, this is madness. Glorious, life-shattering, madness.

"Raoul and the phantom are certainly not supposed to do this," I say, babbling now that some sanity has returned. "D'Artanan and Christine will be terribly unhappy."

"Shush." He rolls onto his side and covers my entire face with his hand. "I've uncontestedly won a major battle. I want to relish it."

"I think it was more of a draw. We both surrendered in the end," I snap, pushing his hand away. He uses it to draw me closer, his fingers trailing across my skin.

"The purpose of my visit was scheming, I'll have you know," I say, relaxing into him. There's no sense in retreating now, the smoke hasn't cleared from the battlefield, but my defenses have fallen.

"We can scheme later, although that may have been better foreplay than make-believe and sword fights," he says, sounding sleepy.

"I like make-believe and sword fights," I yawn.

"I am well aware of what you like, Sarah," he whispers just before I'm taken by sleep.

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hehehe


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